


Blood Sugar Sex Magick

by dastiel_gal (rock_chick), rock_chick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rock_chick/pseuds/dastiel_gal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rock_chick/pseuds/rock_chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam gets hit by a curse, just how far are John and Dean prepared to go to save his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Sugar Sex Magick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://twoskeletons.livejournal.com/profile)[**twoskeletons**](http://twoskeletons.livejournal.com/)' prompt **"ritual sex"** in [the Five Acts kinky comment!fic meme](http://toestastegood.livejournal.com/550739.html). How could I resist a prompt like that?

Dean watches as John lights the last candle and takes a long look at Sammy's comatose form across the room, then glances over at Dean's feet, like he can't make himself look his son in the eye. Uncomfortable about their state of undress, even though they've seen each other in nothing but boxers many, many times before, or maybe shamed by the thought of what they're about to do. "Look... Dean..."

Dean's throat feels like it's closing over, but he manages to grind out, "We haven't got _time_ , Dad. You said yourself, it's the only way."

He sees John flinch at the mention of their relationship. "Christ, Dean, I..."

"It's for _Sammy_ , Dad. If it was anyone but me standing here, you wouldn't even hesitate, and you know it. Just... pretend it's someone else, okay?" His voice cracks. "It'll be all right." _Please don't make this harder than it already is_ , he thinks, desperately hoping his poker face holds out. _Please don't make me beg you._

John stands for a moment, head down, his eyes screwed up, reaching for the courage to do what needs to be done. Dean can see the change, the moment he's ready. John's head snaps up, determination stamped across his face, and he beckons Dean to join him in the circle of symbols Dean spent the last half hour drawing out.

Dean steps through the flickering candles, can't suppress a moment of dry-mouthed panic once he's in the circle and stuck there, bound to follow this ritual through to the end. He tries not to think about the end, tries not to wonder whether that shiver running through him is terror or desire.

John is chanting now, reading from his brown leather journal. Dean doesn't know what language, not Latin but something else, ancient and powerful, some kind of spell repeated over and over in his father's deep, whiskey-soaked growl. He wants to know what that chant means; wishes for the first time that he was better at the nerdy side of hunting, the arcane knowledge, the dead languages. But that's Sammy's thing, Sammy who's lying there cursed, a whisker away from death. He's gonna be so disgusted if he ever finds out what they did to save him. Always was prissy.

The air inside the circle is changing, becoming sharp and electric, like a lightning storm. John gets to the end of the chant again, closes the book and puts it down, picking up his hunting knife and handing a broken mug to Dean. He extends his left hand over the mug, pokes the tip of his knife into the pad of his thumb, and drips blood into the cup.

"Your turn, Dean," he says, and they swap implements. "We only need a few drops, no call to be digging deep."

Dean's had a lot more experience with blood than the average 18-year-old, has stitched a few wounds up even, and sticking his finger for a few drops should be a walk in the park, but as he watches his blood well out and run down to mingle with his father's, a swimmy feeling starts up in his head. He watches John as if from a distance as he chants some more, holds the "chalice" up in offering, then sets it aside on a specific symbol at the outer edge.

"That's the blood magic part out of the way," says John.

It's time. For a moment, Dean wishes he were anywhere but here, that he'd never started this esoteric shit, never set foot in a circle he can't get out of without... doesn't want to do it. Does want to do it. Has always wanted it in a secret place in his brain he's locked down hard for years. There's a roaring in his ears and he sways forward, lightheaded with panic and need and shame. He loses his balance, falls all the way forward into his father's broad chest, feels muscular arms go round him and hold him up. He tries not to think about how comforting the hot, bare skin against him is.

"Dean," murmurs John, "I know you've had your share of girlfriends, but have you ever... with a guy?"

Dean shakes his head, hiding his face. God, how did he not realize just how humiliating this was going to get?

"Well, then, maybe _you'd_ better do this, rather than me."

It takes Dean a moment to work out what the fuck John means, and then he's shaking his head furiously, burning with embarrassment. _Wrong way around_ , he thinks. It was always the other way around in those dreams, the ones he pretends not to have ever had. "No, no, I can't, I just... you. You have to."

"Are you sure? Dean... I'm a full-grown guy, it's gonna be pretty damn uncomfortable for you."

Dean's already looking downwards, but his father's words make him actually _see_ ; John's soft, but the bulge is still sizeable. For a moment, he's speechless, a shiver of something like excitement flashing through him. Then he finds his voice, finds the strength to look up and meet his father's eyes. "I'm sure. Dad, Chrissakes stop _talking_. Just, please."

John rolls his eyes, looking unhappy, but it's not like they have many options here. He buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck, not kissing but rubbing his cheek there, beard tickling and scratching. It sends a jolt of pleasure to Dean's cock, and he realizes that he's half-hard; has been for a while. The strong arms stroke up and down his back, warm in the cool room, and crazy-ass blood-and-sex ritual or not, he feels safe within them. The last of the terror leaves him, and his own arms come up around John, smaller hands running over the wide back.

There's no sound in the room but the huffing of their breath as they stand for a few minutes, hands and arms stroking, moving, getting used to each other's touch. Dean's breath is coming faster, his head whirling with all the long-buried fantasies that have been unlocked by the feel and smell of his father's skin, the loving touch he never thought he would ever get. He sways again, his hips fall against John. There's a frozen moment when John feels his son's hard-on pressed against him, and his whole body tenses, pulling away. Dean's just gone now, though, whines and clutches at his father, hauls him back close, fingers digging in and hips moving against him.

"Dean, God," groans John, the tension easing out of him as the friction of Dean's cock makes his own start to harden. "Okay, okay."

And then John's reluctance melts away and he commits fully. He's all over Dean, hands and mouth everywhere, hips grinding, and it's better than anything Dean ever dreamed of. He's panting, blood pounding around his body, skin too tight for him, crying out as John's teeth find a nipple.

John's hands move lower, working the waistband of Dean's boxers over his erection and pushing them down his legs. The feeling of his naked cock sliding against his father's with only a thin layer of cotton between them makes his head spin. Dean's hands stray downwards, palming John's ass, feeling the play of muscles under his skin as he shifts. Dean's shaking so hard he can barely hold up his own weight, and John lowers him to his knees, then takes a step back and works his own boxers off. There's a treasure trail of hair leading down from his navel, and his cock springs free, thick and meaty, surrounded by dark curly hair.

Dean's seen his father naked before, it's kinda unavoidable living in one motel room, but this is the first time he's seen his cock erect. He swallows nervously, thinking about where that's gonna be going soon, how big it is, but the nerves aren't enough to make much of a dent in the wild hunger running through his body. Before he knows it, he's reaching out a hand and curling it around John's cock, stroking upwards and causing a sharp intake of breath. He's only allowed a few strokes before John's moving again, grabbing a bottle of lotion Dean hadn't even noticed before, pushing Dean onto his back and kneeling between his legs, taking care not to touch the edge of the circle.

"I'll try to take it easy. Tell me if you need me to slow down, okay? Dean?" John's looking at the bottle of lotion, at the symbols on the floor, anywhere but at his son's naked body spread out in front of him. Suddenly, Dean wants his father's eyes on him, wants it fiercely.

" _Dad._ " That gets him eye contact. "Stop beating yourself up. We're doing this for Sam, remember?" Dean can't resist smoothing a hand across his neck, drawing John's eye, then slowly downwards, circling a nipple, and down down down to his cock, grasping and stroking. John's eyes follow, glazing over, and when Dean thumbs the head, shiny smear of pre-come on swollen skin, a low groan escapes him.

"It's okay to enjoy it. I want you to," whispers Dean, barely audible, and John's eyes flutter shut on a moan.

John flips open the lotion and wets his fingers with it, looks down at Dean with eyes gone dark. "Knees up, Dean." There's John's accustomed tone of command in it which makes Dean shiver, has always made Dean shiver - including in some very inappropriate situations - and he obeys instantly, pulls his knees up and out, blushing as he exposes himself. For a moment it's too much and he shuts his eyes, turns his face away. There's a slick of wetness between his legs, skin sliding against him, and then a firm, warm finger circling his hole. He gasps, chokes on it, the rush of need through his body making his head spin, and then the finger's pressing gently in and he feels like he's going crazy with the sensation. He squirms, which just presses the finger deeper, and it's good, doesn't hurt like he was expecting, just keeps sliding in slowly till it's knuckle deep. There's a pause and then the finger's moving, slowly at first and then faster, and it feels sexy and filthy at the same time, sending shudders through him every time it pushes in. Then there's another pause, and then two fingers, which is kinda uncomfortable at first, but John's using plenty of lube on him so it's slippery and doesn't really _hurt_. As he loosens up, it starts feeling good, the movement inside him's driving him insane, and he wants more, starts pushing back against the fingers, hips wriggling and moaning with need.

"Dean, Jesus," groans John, sounding desperate, and Dean sneaks a peep at his father. He looks completely wrecked, biting his lip hard, eyes on his fingers moving in and out of Dean. He starts twisting his fingers on each stroke, and Dean arches up off the ground.

"Please..."

John squeezes some more lotion on his hand and strokes his cock with it, then moves forward on his knees. He pushes against Dean's thighs to tilt his hips upwards, and leans over him, holding him in place with effortless strength. They look into each other's eyes for a few seconds which stretch into infinity, John's dark and intense, Dean's blown wide open and wanting.

Then Dean feels thick blunt pressure at his hole, so wide he wonders how it's ever gonna go in, but then the head of it's in past the ring of his muscle, and even with all the stretching it hurts, burns. Dean gasps and clenches up, wrenching a deep groan from John. He can see his father is fighting to stay still, give Dean a moment to adjust, then he starts to slide in, inch by burning inch, the pauses in between nowhere near long enough for Dean to get used to John's thickness. He's making small, helpless, pained noises; he thought he was used to taking pain, but this is too intimate, going deeper and deeper, and Dean wants to curl up into a ball and hug himself - but he's all splayed out and open, under his _father_ , God, it's too much. He can't bear it, throws an arm across his face to hide.

At first, he barely feels it when John slides a hand between them and starts stroking Dean's cock as he slides out of him, but then a gentle wave of pleasure rolls through him just as John pushes back into him, careful and steady, and this time it hurts a little less. John keeps going, slow-paced but inexorable, and as Dean opens up, the pleasure starts winning out over the burning. It still feels huge inside of him, but it's no longer unbearable.

John is speeding up now, little grunts of pleasure escaping him, head down and breath huffing out over Dean's chest, and then he puts a roll into his hips that sends a bright flood of sensation through Dean, fetching him up off the floor with a cry. John laughs, a hard bark of sound, and starts pounding into Dean, rolling against him at that same angle, over and over.

Dean's moaning continuously, he can't believe it feels so good - as good as when he's fucking a girl, except it's _in him_ , deep and intimate and filling him up until he wants to scream from it, too much but wonderful. He writhes against John, desperate.

John's really hitting his stride, strong battle-hardened body pumping into Dean, waves of heat and need washing over them both, taking them closer and closer to the edge. Dean goes over first, thrashing and yelling out his ecstasy.

"Dad, oh fuck, _DAD_!"

He clenches tight around John, who manages a few more thrusts before following him over, head buried in Dean's chest, deep groans bursting out of him as he works through it. There's a few moments of silence as they both come back down, comfortable and satisfied at first, but becoming a little strained as the real world starts to come back in on them. Finally, John heaves out a sigh and lifts up his head to look at Dean. Dean has to steel himself to meet his father's eyes, expecting to see disgust in them. After all, he's just seen his son writhing wantonly under him, crying out for him as he came. But although John's looking shellshocked and concerned, there's no revulsion there.

"Dean... are you...?"

" 'M fine, Dad."

A rustle of movement and a low murmur from across the room send them scrambling for their clothes. Sam's coming round.

"Not a word to Sam about this," hisses John. "As far as he's concerned, it was just blood magic."

Dean nods frantically, but he can't help noticing that his father's eyes never leave his body as he dresses.

"Right, Dad. Sam never needs to know..."


End file.
